


Time Apart

by emynn



Series: All Kinds of Time [2]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2738573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was fucking pathetic, Brian knew. He wasn’t some insecure teenager desperate for his boyfriend’s approval. But even from the very beginning, it had been fucking powerful to know he was the center of Justin’s world. The reason behind why it felt so powerful had evolved over time, much against Brian’s will. But there was that certainty. That certainty that Brian feared was slowly cracking, becoming more and more tenuous the longer they took part in this long-distance whatever the fuck it was."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Apart

Brian slid into an empty booth at the Diner, ignoring all the stares that immediately turned his way. “Coffee, please,” he said, opening the newspaper he had tucked under his arm.

Predictably enough, Michael joined him before he even managed to skim the headlines of the first page. “Hey, Bri. How are you doing?”

“I’m just fine, sweetheart, and how are you doing?”

“You know what I mean,” Michael said. “We haven’t seen you all week, and you haven’t returned any of my calls.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Brain said, flipping to the next page. “Busy, busy.”

“You’re not _that_ busy.”

“Theodore,” Brian said. “Have I not been busy?”

“Been there every morning before I arrived and still after I left,” Ted said, turning around to look at Brian.

“And what have your hours been?”

“Oh, I get in around eight, leave around six, with an hour for lunch.”

“Theodore …”

Ted scowled and looked down at his scrambled eggs. “I get in around seven in the morning and usually leave by seven at night.” He raised his head again. “But I _do_ take that hour for lunch.”

“Uh huh,” Brian said, smirking at Michael. “There you have it. Witness testimony that I’ve been burning the midnight oil. Or would you prefer to have his statement notarized?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Have you talked to Justin?”

His coffee finally appeared, along with a nosy surrogate mother who apparently decided he needed waffles along with his coffee. As if carbs were going to magically put everything back into place. “Why the sudden interest in the frequency of my phone calls with Sunshine? I don’t recall you keeping track before.”

Debbie smacked the back of his head. “You know why. You were a day away from marrying the kid, so don’t go acting like you don’t give a shit all of a sudden that for the first time in five years he’s no longer everywhere you turn.”

Brian glowered at the waffles he had no intention of eating. Of course he’d fucking talked to Justin. In the eight days he’d been gone, there had been twelve phone calls (although three had been dropped calls; Brian needed to get Justin on a new cell phone plan), four emails (including twelve pictures of his new apartment and his new “I’m a starving artist in the Big Apple now” shorts), and more text messages than Brian cared to count. But he had no desire to share any of that with anybody sitting in the Diner. Like vultures, they were, circling around their prey, for any last scrap of Brian’s dignity they could find.

“He’s busy, too,” Brian said. 

“Have you thought to call him?” Michael asked quietly. 

“For fuck’s sake, Michael!” Brian said, slamming his mug on the table, its contents sloshing dangerously. “Christ, would you all just fucking stop? Shockingly, I do know how to pick up the phone when I want to talk to somebody, and I even know how to answer it when it rings. _When_ ,” he added, seeing the way Michael’s eyes were narrowing, “I feel like talking to the person on the other end. Yes, I know Justin’s no longer in Pittsburgh. Yes, I’ve talked to him. Like I said, he’s busy. And no, I’m not fucking falling to pieces over it so could all of you just fuck off and stay the hell out of my business?”

The outburst seemed to have the exact opposite of its intended effect, because all that it accomplished was even stronger looks of pity directed at him. Brian mourned the day when he could shout and souls would scatter. “I’m out of here,” he muttered, throwing a twenty on the table.

“Brian, wait,” Michael said, grabbing his arm. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. We’re just concerned, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I know,” Brian said. “And it’s misplaced concern. I’m not drinking myself into oblivion, my illicit drug use has stayed right at its usual rate, and the number of tricks I’ve fucked has been right around average.” Well, some of that was true, anyway. He spent so much time at the office this week he’d barely had the energy to get his dick sucked, and there didn’t seem to be much of a point of visiting Alphabet City if he wasn’t going out. But he’d definitely gone through several bottles of liquor and he was already in need of more chronic so, really, it all balanced out. “I simply have a number of very important projects to sort out.”

“Well, I guess it beats …” Michael’s voice trailed off, and Brian knew he was thinking back to, well, any time he and Justin had been in a place of uncertainty. “Anyway. What are you working on?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Brian grinned. “I’m re-opening Babylon.”

A genuine, wide smile spread across Michael’s face, even as Ted spat out his coffee. “Really? But you told me you couldn’t do it.”

“You’re very persuasive, Mikey,” Brian said. “You should go into sales.” He turned back to Ted. “Theodore. Ten. We’re discussing logistics. I want Babylon open, better than before, by July.” He glanced around at the group. Satisfied that their expressions had all gone from disgusting amounts of pity and concern to pure, unadulterated shock, he took one last sip of his coffee and headed out the door.

And right into Emmett Honeycutt.

“Brian!” he exclaimed. “How are you, sweetie?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Ask the group. They seem to know better than I do,” he said, and walked out without another word.

~*~

“Well, that’s better than what I expected,” I say, leaning back in my seat. “I was anticipating more silence.”

“It’s still early,” Judy says. “Come on now, Vic. Do you really expect Brian to let himself completely fall to pieces when Justin’s only been gone for a week? After what we just discussed about him fearing not being in control?”

“He did before,” I point out.

“Different time,” Judy says. “He could still play it off back then. He could pretend that Justin’s bashing didn’t affect him because he was just some trick he saw more than once. He could tell people it didn’t bother him when Justin left him for Ethan because he didn’t love him. Brian was still living in Neverland then. But he’s grown up. He’s revealed too much of his hand to go back. It would be pointless to attempt to deny Justin was the reason behind any breakdown now. But I doubt he wants to admit that to his friends.”

“Point.” I raise my glass, which is now filled with water. As we get closer and closer to examination time, I feel I need a clear mind. “But you can’t tell me those two just never see each other again. Even if Brian stubbornly kept pushing Justin away for his own good, Justin’s an equally persistent little shit.”

“Why don’t we find out?” Judy asks, and the images on the screen begin to move once more.

~*~

“Wow, this is incredible!”

Brian glanced over at Michael, his attention still mostly focused on ensuring the lighting was set up properly. “I thought I told you not to come until it opened. It ruins the effect if you see it still being set up.”

“Ahh, I couldn’t stay away. I was too excited to see what you’ve been working on all this time. Besides, the opening’s only a couple of hours away.”

“Yeah,” Brian said absently. “Hey, Eric! Far left corner, that bulb’s blown. Fix it, then check all the others.”

“So, everything’s falling into place,” Michael continued. “Babylon rises again, the great Brian Kinney along with it.”

“Yeah, only difference is I never fell,” Brian said. He pulled out his phone and swore under his breath when he saw the text awaiting him. _Delayed again. Another fucking hour. Abandoning the artsy Italian guy to try to seduce some info out of the guy at the counter._

“Well, now that you’ve managed to pull this off, think we’ll get to see you around some more?” Michael asked. “You haven’t been to the Diner in ages --”

“Cutting carbs.”

“We haven’t seen you at the gym.”

“I can’t help it if you all elect not to work out at the only times that currently fit into my schedule.”

“Yeah, because who wants to get all sweaty at midnight?”

Brian raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I forgot that was past the professor’s bedtime.”

“At least dinner at Ma’s,” Michael said, ignoring him. “I’m sure even she could manage to make you a spinach salad with dressing on the side.”

“Doubtful,” Brian said, reaching for his cigarettes. “But I appreciate your optimism. However, you’re making a number of assumptions. For one, Babylon could be a huge fucking failure, in which case I’ll need at least a year to drink myself into a stupor over the wasted effort, one month per ten grand I’ve dropped into this place. For another, you’re assuming I’m suddenly going to have unlimited free time. In case you’ve forgotten, I do have _two_ businesses to run.”

“Yeah, so you’ve mentioned.”

“Right, so then -- shit, Eric! Did you _not_ see the mess at the bar? That needs to be cleaned the fuck up now. Fags hate sawdust in their cosmos.” He turned back to Michael. “Listen, I’m a little busy right now, so --”

“When’s Justin getting in?”

“Not sure,” Brian said. He pulled out his lighter, and since it happened to be in the same pocket as his cell, it only made sense to check to see if there was an update. _Mechanical issue. What a waste of a blow job. If I’d stuck with the artsy Italian guy at least I might have enjoyed it. Trying to see if I can get on another flight._ Brian quickly lit his cigarette and typed out a response. _I’ve seen your blow jobs accomplish far more impossible things._ “Flight’s already been delayed four hours.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Michael said. “He could have been here and back already.”

Brian rolled his eyes and headed back behind the bar to confirm their inventory for the third time in as many hours. “Ever so insightful, Michael.”

“Sorry,” Michael repeated. “I know how much you’ve been looking forward to having him back for a bit.”

Brian frowned. Well, there was no real point denying it. He missed Justin, point blank, end of story. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d meant when he’d tried to tell Justin it was “only time.” The surface-level meaning still stood, of course: what he and Justin shared, this entirely unlikely relationship that by all means should have been doomed from the start, was something bigger than time. They both knew just how important they were to each other. Distance or time apart did nothing to change that. 

But there was fucking nothing “only” about time. _Only_ the frequent about-faces whenever he saw a flash of blond hair out of the corner of his eye. _Only_ making an especially cutting remark and expecting to hear a sharp burst of laughter and still being surprised to hear only silence. _Only_ picking up the hottest trick at the club who was known for his very talented mouth and heading home, hands in pockets, feeling like he’d done something as perfunctory as taking a piss, rather than having his dick serviced by a man who could have sucked cock for the grand ole U.S. of A. 

_Only_ waking up in the middle of the night and reaching for Justin beside him before the memory of the morning Justin left hit him in the gut.

No, there was nothing _only_ about time. Only that it hadn’t seemed to be worth a whole hell of a lot lately.

“Well, as talented as the lad is, even he can’t repair planes,” Brian said. As if on cue, his phone rang. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Justin said, and Brian knew immediately he wasn’t going to make it.

“Plane still grounded?”

“Worse,” Justin said. “In the time it took them to figure out what the fuck was wrong with the plane, the weather forecast took a turn for the worse. They’re canceling all flights out.”

Brian bit his lip, forcing himself to hold back a string of expletives. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not fucking okay,” Justin said. “If they had told us this in the beginning, I might have had time to rent a car, or get on a train, and still be there in time for the opening. This is _bullshit_ , is what it is.”

“Justin,” Brian said. “It’s fine. Besides, there will probably be a lot of kinks to work out the first night anyway. It’s better if you come another week and you can see it running at peak condition.”

“That’s bullshit, too,” Justin said. “I know how hard you’ve been working. It’s not going to be anything other than a massive fucking success from night one.” He sighed. “I just really wanted to be there for you. To see Babylon re-open after … everything.”

“I know,” Brian said quietly. And he wanted Justin there, too. Not just because he was dying to fuck him again in the new back room, or in the VIP lounge, or in the alley, or anywhere, really. Not even for anything related to _them_ at all. It was more than that. Justin was a part of Babylon. He’d survived the bombing. He’d rescued people that night. He deserved to be there that night. 

Then there was also the fact that he and Justin were basically Babylon royalty and they just made so much more of a _statement_ when they worked the scene together. _Fuck_ , that had been a powerful feeling. That extra confidence would have gone a long way tonight.

“I could still see if I could catch a Greyhound,” Justin said. “I probably wouldn’t make it till early in the morning, but I could see Babylon tomorrow.”

“No,” Brian said. “You’ll arrive stinking of teenage runaways and bitch and moan all day, then fall asleep in the middle of getting your dick sucked, and then have to race back to the airport to get back for your Monday shift at the bar.”

“I wouldn’t --”

“Yes, you would,” Brian said. “When you come back, I want you to enjoy it. It’s not worth it if you’re just rushing around.”

Justin sighed, and Brian could just see him frowning, his brow furrowing as he bit the tip of his thumb. “You’re right. I just feel like such a shit.”

“Well, that’s because you are one, Sunshine,” Brian said, attempting a cheerful tone. “You really should get that checked out. I’m afraid it could be a chronic condition.”

“Shut up,” Justin said, and at least now he sounded like he was smiling a bit. “Okay. We’ll pick another weekend. And I’ll book an earlier flight so I can definitely make it.”

“Great.”

“And Brian? Don’t roll your eyes, or grumble, or do anything Brian-like when I say this, but … I’m proud of you.”

Brian didn’t roll his eyes or grumble, and, in fact, did a rather un-Brian-like thing. Unable to hold back a trace of a smile, he simply said, “thank you.”

“Okay, I should go. Let you get back to getting Babylon ready,” Justin said. “Maybe I can go console that artsy Italian guy. At least it would make coming out to JFK worth it.”

Brian laughed. “In a cheap hotel by the airport? Don’t you have one of those places on retainer?”

“No, no, I’ve moved up in the world. If you’re paying for my ass, I expect a penthouse suite.”

“Good to know. I’ll book one when I come up,” Brian said, grinning now. Shit, sometimes it just felt so _easy_ with Justin.

“Make that soon?” Justin asked, his voice dropping. “I know we said it was for the best we didn’t see each other the first few months, but I just really fucking miss you.”

“It’ll be soon,” Brian promised, leaving the obvious unsaid.

“I just -- never mind. I need to hang up or I’ll just keep you on all night. Bye, Bri. Oh, tell Michael I say hi.”

Brian pulled the phone away from his ear. “Justin says hi and he hopes you enjoyed our conversation.” Smirking at Michael’s rapidly reddening face and his awkward shuffle away, Brian picked up the phone again. “I expect a full report on the artsy Italian guy.”

“Only in exchange for one from you on Babylon tonight. I want to know exactly what I’m missing,” Justin said. “Call me when you’re functioning.”

Ignoring Michael’s trademark sad smile, because Brian knew _nothing_ would piss him off more right now, Brian instead called out to Eric one more time. “And while you’re at it, find me some E. And _not_ the cheap shit. Last thing I need is to be peeled off the bathroom floor.”

“You’re giving him an awful lot to do,” Michael said.

“He’s the manager,” Brian said. “It’s what anyone should expect when working under me. Isn’t that right, Eric?” 

Eric, submissive little twink he was, nodded and took the cash from Brian’s hand. 

“He’s quiet,” Brian said, as they watched him leave. “But he knows how to delegate and he gets shit done.”

“Right,” Michael said. “So, are we just not going to talk about how Justin’s not going to be here for your big night?”

“No,” Brian said, taking a long drag from his cigarette before putting it out in an ashtray. “We’re not. Because I have a fucking club to open in two hours. So are you going to be useful, or are you going to stand around and moon over my love life?”

The night, as Justin predicted, was a massive fucking success. Babylon was packed, the mood was hot, the _thumpa-thumpa_ continued to beat on. In a lot of ways, it was as if no time had passed -- all eyes were on Brian, who’d dance with Mikey when Ben could spare him, who was high on any number of drugs but then also simply the fact that he was Brian fucking Kinney and screw anybody who didn’t realize that was the greatest drug around, that confidence and sex and heat that ran through his veins at all times. 

But if anybody noticed that Brian also seemed more content to dance by himself on a raised platform, looking over his kingdom rather than mingling among the commoners as he typically did, if they noticed the way his head would turn the second anybody with blond hair moved past him, as though either he’d forgotten Justin had said he wouldn’t make it or that the stubborn little shit had miraculously figured out a way to make it anyway, well, they didn’t say a word.

~*~

“When was this?” I ask when the images stop moving again. “Summer?”

Judy nods. “Just a little over two months after Justin left for New York.”

“Still, I have to say, Brian’s handling it pretty well,” I say. “He may have been high, but he was still relatively lucid.”

Judy hums. “That’s true.” 

“Besides, if they’re going to be long-distance, I think it was pretty smart of them to agree not to see each other right away. I’m sure it could actually make the separation more difficult, especially with Justin off by himself in a big city attempting to start a new life.”

“Also very true.”

I frown. “You sound disturbingly reasonable.”

She quirks her eyebrow to me. “I’m only matching your tone.”

“What’s wrong with being reasonable?”

“With these two?”

I sigh. “Roll the film.”

~*~

“James.”

“Yes, Mr. Kinney?”

“Repeat for me your instructions for the evening.”

James, either the poorest or luckiest bastard the Four Seasons had elected to serve as Brian’s personal butler for his stay in New York, dutifully nodded his head. “When Mr. Taylor arrives, I am to dim the lights, and then wait seven beats before moving to answer the door. I am to then escort him to the library, where you will be waiting by the window, your back turned. I will then leave Mr. Taylor with you and take my leave, only to return if and when you call.”

“You’ve forgotten the most important detail,” Brian said.

“My apologies, Mr. Kinney. I am also not once to mention your name.”

“You’re damn right you won’t,” Brian said. “Or else you’ll find the ‘non-negotiable $35,000 per night’ will suddenly become very, _very_ negotiable.”

“Yes, Mr. Kinney,” James said, just as a knock sounded at the door.

“Show time,” Brian muttered, and turned to take his place.

“Mr. Taylor, sir,” James announced a moment later. Brian remained facing the window. He wondered how long it would take for Justin to say anything.

And then, just as Brian heard the main door quietly close shut, he was spun around and very nearly tackled to the ground.

“I knew it,” Justin said in between messy, heated kisses. “I fucking knew it was you.”

“The butler slipped?” Brian asked, tugging off Justin’s sweater.

“No,” Justin gasped, and groaned as Brian latched onto one of his nipples. “As if I wouldn’t recognize the back of you anywhere. Even in -- fuck -- in the dark.”

“I got a haircut,” Brian said, working at Justin’s belt buckle.

“And it’s hot,” Justin said. “But I wasn’t looking at your hair.”

“Where were you looking?”

“Just you,” Justin said. “Nobody fucking fills out a suit like you do. And I should know. I live in New York. Everybody’s in a fucking suit.”

Brian growled and dragged Justin over to a nearby couch, pushing him over the arm. “So you’re saying I should have shown up in jeans if I wanted to keep up the surprise?” he asked, tearing off Justin’s shoes and then his pants and shorts. Justin’s dick was already hard and curved up against his stomach and it took every ounce of Brian’s willpower not to swallow it down immediately. Instead, he focused on removing his own clothing, starting with his tie.

“No,” Justin gasped. “I know your ass in a pair of jeans, too. It’s one of my favorite sights.”

“So you’re saying I would have had to sit completely hidden from view if I wanted to keep up this charade? That your artist’s eye is so well-trained you could have picked me out in any light, at any distance?”

“Pretty much,” Justin said, his eyes gleaming as he watched Brian unbutton his shirt. “But I had a feeling it was you even before I got here.”

“Is that so?” Brian asked, letting his pants drop to the floor and moving to lean over Justin.

“Come on now,” Justin said, his voice hot against Brian’s ears. “A mysterious wealthy art collector who scours the web for unknown artists to build up private collections before they strike it big? Refusing to give a name? Insistent on the time and date? Your fingerprints were all over it.”

“My fingerprints are about to be all over something else,” Brian said, leaning down for a kiss. 

Justin moaned in agreement, and in a moment they were both lost. Fuck, it had been far too long. Four goddamn months not feeling this cock, hot and heavy in his hand. Four months of not hearing Justin cry out his name, unable to hold back as Brian touched and kissed and licked all those spots that made him lose control. Four months of not feeling that incredible ass clench around Brian’s cock as he pounded into Justin in that perfect rhythm the two of them had developed over the course of thousands and thousands of fucks. 

After being apart for so long, jerking off only to the memory of this, finally feeling Justin writhe beneath him was almost overwhelming. On some level, Brian appreciated the heightened awareness their time apart had given him -- it was as though he had swallowed a tab of E and was fucking flying through a kaleidoscope of sensory overload. 

But after they both came, neither bothering to disguise their shouts for anything other than what they were, and they clung together, panting and sweating, Brian knew he’d take having Justin with him at all times over this frantic, almost desperate reunion sex any day of the week.

“So,” Brian finally said, “does the penthouse suite meet your standards? Can I keep you for the weekend?”

Justin laughed. “You know, you didn’t seriously need to book a penthouse. I _do_ have an apartment.”

“I know, I’ve seen pictures,” Brian said, nuzzling his neck into the hollow of Justin’s collarbone. “If you think I’m taking my dick out in a shithole like that, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Now who’s the princess?” Justin said, kissing the top of Brian’s head. “There’s nothing wrong with my apartment.”

“No,” Brian agreed. “Only if you like hot water, a bathroom not covered in mold, and not having to fuck in a bedroom the size of a goddamn closet.”

“It’s not _that_ small.”

“You were bragging just last week that you could jump from the foot of your bed and out into the living area,” Brian said, reaching a hand up to play with Justin’s hair. “Plus, in a place that tiny, I’d run out of rooms to fuck you in within an hour. Here we have 4,300 square feet of uncharted territory to explore. It’ll take all weekend.”

“All weekend?” Justin asked, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“If you can get away, of course,” Brian said, unable to resist kissing him on the mouth again.

“Are you the reason my shift changed last minute at the bar?” Justin asked. “I was so pissed that I’d be losing out on weekend tips.”

“I’ll give you far more than just the tip, young man,” Brian said, moving to place light kisses all down Justin’s chest.

“Brian … Brian, wait.”

Brian froze. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous, but the truth was, he felt entirely out of his element here. While they might be in Brian’s suite, on Brian’s credit card, they were in Justin’s territory now. Brian was going to him. Brian was attempting to please him. And while he was pretty sure Justin wanted him here, Brian wasn’t really clear on anything these days. He’d never done anything resembling a relationship before Justin, let alone a long-distance one. It was an entirely different ballgame, and he was still mastering the playbook even as he was running the bases. He had a brief flashback to all those moments when Justin, still a lovestruck high school kid, had kept showing up to Brian’s loft in hopes of being let in, both to Brian’s bed and to his heart. Shit. Is that what he was? When did he become this goddamn pathetic? 

But then Justin squeezed Brian’s hand, and he knew his instincts, as usual, hadn’t failed him.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Justin whispered. 

“Yeah,” Brian said, and, aware it was an uncharacteristically sweet move, took Justin’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “Me, too.”

~*~

“Well, wouldn’t you know,” I say, leaning back in my seat. “Brian Kinney managed to retain a bit of his romantic side, even as life returned to normal after the bombing. Will wonders never cease?”

“Careful,” Judy says. “Rumor has it if you think something strongly enough up here, the living can hear us.”

I laugh. “He has to know it. Surprising Justin by coming up to New York for the weekend? Splurging on the most expensive penthouse in the city? Saying outright he’s happy to be with him? Even Brian has to realize what that sounds like.”

“Well, fortunately, I believe Brian has permanently stopped denying, both to himself and to others, how he feels about Justin.” She looks back up to the screen, which now shows Brian holding a sleeping Justin, absently flicking strands of his hair as he stares off at the New York skyline. “Where he’s still developing, however, is learning just what to do with that information.”

~*~

Brian rubbed his eyes and glanced over at the clock on the wall. He’d have to stop by Babylon in an hour or so, just to make sure Theodore didn’t manage to fuck up the Big Ball Drop to usher in 2006, but the Kingsley proposal was still shit and the presentation was in just over a week. He didn’t know what the hell he was thinking assigning such an important campaign to an incompetent twat like Halliday. He’d managed to imbue sex into the ad, but it was the equivalent to a glory hole in grimy gas station restroom. Unfortunately, it was so bad that now whenever Brian thought of Kingsley, that fucking shit copy was all he could see.

What he needed was to think sex. And not backroom at Babylon sex, but the kind of sex that reeked of luxury. The problem with that was Brian’s mind immediately drifted to the Four Seasons, which led to a certain blond artist, which led to the very reason why he was in his damn office on New Year’s Eve instead of out drinking his face off to forget about all the shit that took place in the past year and join the other idiots in thinking that next year would somehow be better than the last.

“Brian? You here?”

Brian stood up and walked around to the front of his desk, leaning against it as he waited for Justin to enter.

“There you are,” Justin said, dropping his messenger bag on the couch. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Where else would I be?” Brian asked, once he’d greeted Justin with first a quick kiss, and then a much longer one.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Justin said, wrapping his arms around Brian’s shoulders. “When you left Michael and Ben’s without saying anything, I thought maybe you just needed to escape the domestic tranquility and would be back at the loft. When you weren’t there, I thought maybe you went to get a drink at Woody’s. And when you weren’t _there_ , I thought I’d find you down at Babylon setting up for tonight.”

“And yet here I am,” Brian said. “Burning the midnight oil.”

“Not midnight just yet,” Justin said, nuzzling Brian’s neck. “But I have to say, I didn’t really expect to ring in the new year in your office.”

“You seemed pretty occupied yourself,” Brian said.

“I thought that’s what you were sulking about,” Justin said.

Brian pulled away from Justin and moved back behind his desk. “I don’t sulk,” he said.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Justin said. “Brian Kinney doesn’t sulk. So I guess that means you were just … brooding? Glowering?”

“You’ve been away for too long,” Brian said. “That’s just my regular charming disposition.”

Justin crossed his arms. “Right. Because it’s entirely normal for you to be holed up in your office on one of the biggest party days of the year, especially when I’m --”

“When what, Sunshine?” Brian asked, looking down at the waste of ink on his desk. “When you’re here? I hate to break it to you, but deadlines don’t extend themselves just because you decided to grace Pittsburgh with your presence.”

“Cut it out, Bri,” Justin said. “You’re not going to pull that kind of bullshit our last night here together.”

Brian refused to look up. What the fuck was he supposed to say? That if Justin was only able to manage a four-day visit, he’d really rather not see him at all? That he was acutely aware of just how little time they actually had together, especially when it seemed everybody in Pittsburgh was determined to see Justin on his first trip back to Pittsburgh since moving to New York? That despite their fuck marathons every night and the blow jobs and quickies they managed to sneak in during the day between seeing everybody, it still didn’t feel like enough? That he fucking found himself _jealous_ of his friends, of Debbie, of _Jennifer_ , for Christ’s sake, for daring to presume they’d spend more than a few minutes with Justin when he was finally in town, to celebrate his birthday, Christmas, _and_ the new year?

Christ, even he knew how irrational that was. Because Brian Kinney was _not_ a jealous man. He loved watching Justin fucking other men, loved seeing him suck other men’s cocks and know that Justin would be sucking his own later that night. But other people possessing Justin’s _time_? That, Brian found, he was profoundly, ridiculously, _stupidly_ jealous of. It was entirely beneath his dignity.

All the more reason Kingsley had to be a big fucking success. This type of behavior couldn’t be permitted go on.

“You know,” Justin said. “If I could clone myself, I’d totally do it.”

“I wouldn’t mind that myself,” Brian said. “It _has_ always been one of my deepest regrets that it’s impossible to fuck you and suck you at the same time.”

“Well, that would be one benefit,” Justin agreed. “But I was thinking more I could keep one in New York to hustle my art around, and the other one could stay here with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brian scoffed. “Why the fuck would you stick around Pittsburgh? If there were two of you, you could be hustling twice as much in New York.”

“Fine,” Justin said. “Hustle twice as fast in New York, so I can spare more time away, and then when I can manage to get away to Pittsburgh, I’ll leave one of the clones to go hang out with my mom and Debbie and everybody else, and the other one would be busy blowing your brains out.” He reached out and grabbed Brian’s wrist. “You know you’re the most important person here for me, right?”

“I’m everybody’s most important person.”

Justin laughed. “And you don’t let them forget it. No, what I mean is you’re the reason I come home. Don’t get me wrong -- I wanted to see everybody else too. But if for some reason you weren’t here, I would have stayed in New York. Everybody else is secondary.”

“Pittsburgh isn’t your home,” Brian said.

“Of course it is.”

“If it was, I wouldn’t be your only reason for coming back,” Brian said. 

“Then I guess home is wherever you are,” Justin said quietly.

“Don’t be maudlin,” Brian said. “It doesn’t become you.”

Justin shook his head. “Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?” He swung his legs over Brian’s desk and sat in front of him, his legs straddling Brian’s thighs. “Listen, you son of a bitch. I love Pittsburgh. It’s my first home. It’s where my best friends are. It’s where I fell in love. I still plan on living here again one day, and, no, it wouldn’t be a consolation prize if my art career doesn’t work out. I’m genuinely happy here. But  
there is nothing Pittsburgh has to offer that I miss more than you. If I could, I’d spend every fucking second I’m in town with you, as naked as possible. But since they still haven’t perfected the cloning process, and I do still have other people I love and do want to see, we’ll just have to make do for the time being.”

Brian frowned, even as he found his arms somehow around Justin’s shoulders. “I despise clinginess.”

“I know. So do I.” Justin leaned up and kissed Brian’s chin. “But sometimes it’s easy to forget that when we see so little of each other these days, isn’t it?”

Brian sighed. “Don’t be pathetic.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Justin said, and pulled Brian down for a long kiss. Brian attempted to make it something more, and even managed to get Justin’s coat off, but Justin grabbed his hands. “So, tell me. At first I thought you were just trying to hide, but Ted told me you actually do have a pretty big project you’re working on. What’s up?”

“You’d really prefer talking business over talking dirty?”

“We can talk dirty in a minute,” Justin said. “But it’s not every day you pass up a big Babylon bash for Kinnetik. So, what is it?”

Not saying a word, Brian handed Justin the materials he’d been working on.

“Kingsley Neckwear?” Justin asked, rifling through them. “But they’re based in New York. I didn’t even think you could buy them outside of 5th Avenue.”

“You can’t. Yet. But they’re expanding statewide this year and going national in the next five. It’d be a fucking goldmine of an account.”

“But … they’re still based in New York.”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re coming to New York?”

“Theodore says if we land seven New York accounts this year, we can safely afford to set up an auxiliary office there,” Brian said. “If we double that in the next year, we can officially expand by 2008. This would be account number four.”

“You’re moving to New York?” Justin asked, a broad smile spreading across his face. “For me?”

“No, not for you,” Brian said, and kissed Justin’s forehead. “New York is the capital of the advertising world. It’s a brilliant career move.”

“Mmhmm,” Justin said, his smile somehow taking over even more of his face.

“If you’ll recall, I had plans to move to New York before it was even an inkling your pretty little head. If anything, you’re the one who copied my idea to move there.”

“Well, you have to admit,” Justin said, wrapping his legs around Brian and tugging him in close, “it’s a pretty brilliant idea.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to get anywhere if this is our fucking presentation,” Brian said. “It’s shit. Halliday is getting his pink slip on Monday. And _not_ the kind his boyfriend would enjoy.”

“I didn’t think you could be responsible for this,” Justin said. “It’s like fucking in the backroom with the lights on.”

“And what do you suggest?” Brian asked. “My dear Picasso?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Justin said. “Turn down the lights. Ditch this Chippendales dancer who belongs on the cover of some shitty pop album and get a real man who knows how to wear a tie.”

“Like who?”

“You got one of these ties lying around?” Justin asked.

Brian opened his desk drawer and handed Justin a black silk tie. “Part of the new spring line.” 

“See, that’s the first mistake,” Justin said, taking the tie and holding it up to inspect. “Black is boring. Get a deep red. Dark background. Shadowy. Contrast it against a nice, toned chest. Not too muscular like this juice pig. More like the body of a man who fills out a good suit during the day and fills up a good ass at night.”

“Have anybody in mind?” Brian asked.

“Hmm.” Justin pulled Brian’s sweater over his head, then draped the tie around his shoulders. “Do you know what this reminds me of? That time, way back in the beginning, when I came to the loft right after school. And you took my tie and and bound my hands together and held them above my head as you pounded into me, and I came harder than I ever had in my life. Up until that point, anyway.”

Brian could feel his cock hardening in his jeans. That had been one of his favorite early memories of Sunshine. It had been his first attempt at anything remotely kinky with him, just to see how he’d respond to something a little less vanilla, and he’d passed with flying colors. His sweet, naive boy wonder hadn’t been so innocent after all. 

“I’d like to tie you up this time,” Justin said. “I’ve told you nobody can fill up a suit like you, but nobody else can wear a tie like you can, either.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” Justin said, and pushed Brian down into his chair, then hopped down from the desk so he could kneel before him and remove his shoes and pants. “Not a single person in the world.”

“Have you figured out how to tie one yet?”

“I’m a poor, struggling artist,” Justin said, standing again. “I don’t need to know how to tie a Windsor knot. But I can tie a tie in all the ways that count. Around your eyes when I don’t want you to see me sucking your cock.” He draped the tie loosely over Brian’s face, obstructing his view. “Over your mouth when you just won’t shut up and I want you to quit your bitching and just fuck me already.” He moved the tie to cover Brian’s mouth, laughing and pulling it away when Brian bit it. “Bind your wrists behind your back when I want to make you come just by riding you, and you can’t touch me as I move, up and down, over and over on your hot, hard cock.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s the general idea,” Justin said with a low laugh. “Or, I could just tie it around your cock, make it so you can’t come, no matter how hard you are.”

“It’s silk,” Brian said, his voice irritatingly breathless as Justin glided the tie languidly around his cock. “It wouldn’t hold tightly enough.”

“No,” Justin agreed. “But I would.”

Brian groaned. The scarf was cool and smooth as Justin dangled it loosely around his dick. It was torture, to feel that motion so tantalizingly close to what he really wanted. When Justin reached out to cup his balls, Brian’s hips arched up off the chair, and he pulled Justin in for a searing kiss. 

“Suck me,” Brian said. 

“Not this time,” Justin said. “I think we need to bring you to completion with the tie alone. I want you to see this tie and think of coming. And put _that_ sex into your ad.”

“Well, then I’m going to need a little more action,” Brian said, impatiently tweaking Justin’s nipple. Justin didn’t wear the nipple ring there anymore, but Brian happened to know it was still remarkably sensitive.

Justin gasped, but didn’t move the tie. Instead, he wrapped it all around Brian’s cock, as though he were wrapping a present with ribbon, and then gripped his hand around it. “Do it, Brian. Come in my hand. Come in this gorgeous, sexy silk tie.”

Brian closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation. He liked to think himself above coming to a simple hand job, especially when his partner hadn’t even taken his own dick out yet, but even a hand job from Justin was not an occasion to be missed. And Justin _was_ being terribly insistent, and if it helped land the account …

“Come for me,” Justin repeated, breathing into Brian’s ear. “Do it. I want to feel it.”

“Fuck!” Brian gasped, his climax sending tremors through his body.

Justin leaned in and kissed him, his hand still slowly moving over Brian’s cock as he captured every last drop of come. “There you go,” he said, holding up the tie a moment later. It was filthy and wrinkled, nowhere near the pristine, luxurious piece of fabric it had been not thirty minutes earlier. “How’s that for inspiration?”

“You just gifted me with a $300 come rag,” Brian said.

“That’s the spirit,” Justin said. “Put that in your ad.”

Brian chuckled. “You always were inspirational.”

“Damn right,” Justin said. He looked up at the clock. “Shit, it’s almost midnight.”

“We won’t make it to Babylon in time,” Brian said, making a mental checklist of all the questions he’d have to ask Ted as soon as he managed to get Justin off. 

“That’s okay,” Justin said. He gave Brian a quick kiss before going to grab his messenger bag. “I brought us something to ring in the new year. I assume you have glasses here. If you don’t, you can just lick it off of me.”

“Champagne -- ”

“Makes you puke, I know. That’s why I brought Sémillon. Any objections?”

Brian shook his head. “Not a one.”

“Good.” Justin brought the bottle of wine over to the desk, then sat back down on Brian’s lap. “I’m actually glad it’s just the two of us. This is going to be a big year for us. It’s only appropriate we celebrate the kick off together.”

“It still might not work out,” Brian felt compelled to point out. “The market’s extremely competitive, and I’m working from a disadvantage, being in Pittsburgh.”

“But you have the advantage of being Brian Kinney,” Justin said. “That far outweighs any con. You’ll make it happen. I know it.”

Nestling his fingers in Justin’s hair, Brian pulled him in for another kiss. It was one of Brian’s favorite qualities about Justin: his unshakable faith in Brian. When he was facing failure, his other friends were sympathetic, but also chalked it up to cosmic intervention that the great Brian Kinney couldn’t possibly win _every_ prize. But not Justin. Justin wanted him to have _everything_ , and then some. And he believed in Brian completely, even when the odds were stacked against him. Before Justin had come along, Brian had believed himself worthy of success because he was Brian fucking Kinney, killer ad exec, who was daring and took risks and demanded perfection at all times. But Justin made him feel worthy on an entirely different level, just because he was Brian and he was simply _worthy_ , no qualifiers, no strings attached. Nobody could bolster his spirits quite like Sunshine.

“And that brings me to the other reason I had to find you,” Justin said. “Remember that artsy Italian guy I met at JFK a few months ago?”

Brian snorted. “Yeah, the hot guy you decided to compare paintbrushes with instead of cock sizes. How could I forget?”

“I told you, it was a strategic business decision,” Justin said. “He’s the son of a _very_ influential gallery owner and incredibly connected in the art world. I didn’t want him to think of me as some trick instead of an artist.”

“Hasn’t been my experience with you, but I respect your concern.”

“Thank you,” Justin said. “Anyway, I got a voicemail from him while we were at Michael and Ben’s. He’s back from his trip to Italy, and his father’s letting him have a say in the art for their next exhibit and he wants me to take over some samples of my work.”

“Well, well,” Brian said. “Congratulations, Sunshine. Looks like your big break has come at last. All because _you_ decided not to come.”

“Crazy, I know,” Justin said, grinning. “Totally outside the Brian Kinney playbook.”

“You always did better playing by the Justin Taylor one, anyway,” Brian said.

“Well, it has a heavy Kinney influence,” Justin said, and kissed the tip of Brian’s nose. “Isn’t it wild? This time next year, everything could be completely different.”

“I believe that’s the case with every year,” Brian said.

“It’s different this year,” Justin said, cuddling in close. “This is a big year. I can feel it.”

“I believe that’s my dick you’re feeling.”

Justin laughed. “Care to fuck in the new year? Seems more our style than ringing it in.”

“Why, Mr. Taylor,” Brian said, and lifted Justin so his back was flat against the desk. “I thought you’d never ask.”

~*~

“Why do I find Justin’s prediction to be vaguely ominous?” I ask.

“Because you have good instincts,” Judy says. 

I find myself wishing I had a cigarette, even though I’d mostly given up smoking by the time I’d passed, and immediately one appears between my fingers. “So, how long before things really start going to shit? Three months? Four?”

“Not bad, Mr. Grassi,” Judy says. “Not bad at all.”

~*~

Brian dropped his briefcase on his desk and threw his jacket onto the couch. His last meeting of the day had been canceled -- Vangard’s pitch had been so disastrous that Lincoln Timepieces had signed with Kinnetik immediately. Brian could have taken the suddenly free two hours to scour the internet for leads on accounts in New York, but he was in a shit mood and preferred to get a head start on getting utterly wasted instead.

He was just getting very well re-acquainted with his good friend Mr. Beam when there was a knock at the door. Probably Theodore here to whine again about how he was picking up far more than his fair share of the workload lately. It was true, really. Brian decided at that moment to give him the new title of Chief Operating Officer. At least then everything he’d been doing lately would actually be in his job description. Brian would have to tack on an extra $5K or so a month to his paycheck, but it would be worth it to be able to drink in peace.

“Congratulations, Theodore,” Brian said, opening the door. “You --”

“Hello, Brian. Mind if I come in?”

Still stunned, Brian stood back to allow his once future mother-in-law into his loft. “I don’t have any plans to put the loft on the market.”

“Good. I had a hell of a time getting offers for it the last time.”

Brian snorted. The last time. Back when he thought he could keep a hold on Justin just by popping the ole question. “Not that I don’t enjoy the pleasure of your company, but to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” Jennifer said. “Molly started taking dance lessons a few blocks over. And I made extra spicy peanut noodles by mistake and thought I’d bring some over. Justin always said Thai food was your favorite.”

“I do like to keep things spicy,” Brian said, taking the proffered bag. He peered in -- there was far more than just noodles in the bag. Just a quick glance revealed a rotisserie chicken, plenty of green apples, and some type of casserole. “You know, I have managed to do my own grocery shopping for well over half my life now.”

“I know you have,” Jennifer said, taking the bag back and placing the items in the fridge. “But I figured I could spare you the trip this week. Give you an extra hour at the office, or at Babylon, or maybe even at a home-cooked meal with Molly and me.”

Brian laughed. “I don’t do family dinners.”

“Well, you know the offer’s always on the table,” Jennifer said. “Even if … I just want you to know I care about you, Brian. And not just because of how much you mean to Justin. Just because … well, because you’re you.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “Thanks.”

The truth was, Brian cared a great deal for Jennifer as well. He respected her, nearly from the very beginning. She wasn’t perfect, and there were some times early on when Brian could have done completely without her, but she tried her damndest to support Justin and genuinely wanted what was best for _him_ , whatever Justin decided that was, and that made her a worthy ally in Brian’s book. She stood in stark contrast with his own mother, that fucking bitch who thought his cancer was punishment for being gay and that he’d actually molest a child. And while he adored Debbie, his surrogate mother since he was a teenager, there were times she still treated him like a kid, or like he was the heartless son of a bitch his friends still occasionally believed him to be. Jennifer, somehow, saw him as something more. While Brian still wasn’t sure he would ever be the type to have a mother-in-law, he wouldn’t mind if Jennifer was his. 

“How are you holding up, Brian?” Jennifer asked. 

“I’m doing just dandy,” Brian said.

“Mmhmm,” Jennifer said, holding up the nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam. “I can see that.”

“Just catching up with an old friend. Mr. Jameson and Mr. Daniels are also around if you’d like to see them.”

“Have a Miss Chardonnay lurking nearby?”

“Fridge,” Brian said, and went to find her a glass. He rarely bothered with them these days. Justin wasn’t around to nag him on hygiene, and it was more efficient to drink straight from the bottle.

“So,” Jennifer said, after taking a sip of wine, “I was talking to Justin yesterday.”

“Rumor has it he’s doing pretty well for himself,” Brian said. He wasn’t lying. After almost a year in New York, Justin was finally making some significant headway in the art world.“That Alfredo is really showing him around town.”

“Alfonso,” Jennifer corrected. “And yes, he’s definitely been wonderful in introducing Justin to key circles and having his work seen. But that’s not what we were talking about.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. He doubted that. Justin could barely shut up about everything Alfredo … _Alfonso_ had to offer him. He always sounded so damn excited on the phone. Living the dream, that Sunshine was.

Meanwhile, Brian felt like he was disappearing. He was up by five, at Kinnetik by six, where he stayed, trying to keep his Pittsburgh clients satisfied while fighting what seemed each day to be an increasingly impossible fight to land more New York clients. Sometime after the sun set he stopped by Babylon, occasionally to get his dick sucked or fuck some trick in the VIP lounge if he was in the mood. Then he’d go home, drink half a bottle of something, go to bed, and repeat the same routine the next morning. The glamorous life of Brian Kinney, the former king of Liberty Avenue.

“We were talking about you,” Jennifer continued. “And how you had a birthday coming up.”

“Don’t remind me,” Brian muttered. 

“Well, Justin remembered all on his own,” Jennifer said. “He was saying how disappointed he was that you had to go to Chicago for an event with Brown Athletics on your birthday weekend.”

Brian shrugged. “They stop supplying cupcakes for your birthday in grade school. Business doesn’t stop because I’m turning … never mind, that.”

“True enough,” Jennifer said. “Only then I was speaking with Ted -- he and Blake are interested in buying a place, and we were having some preliminary chats -- and I mentioned how much Justin misses you and how he’d hoped you’d be able to do something together to celebrate your birthday. And _he_ said you didn’t have any plans to go to Chicago.”

Damn it. Looked like Theodore had just screwed himself out of that promotion.

“Ted doesn’t know everything about my travel schedule,” Brian said. 

“No,” Jennifer said. “But Cynthia does. And she happened to call Ted while I was still with him, something about an issue with payroll, and Ted asked her just to be sure. Because we couldn’t imagine why you’d lie to Justin about being busy on your birthday. Especially when we all know just how badly you want to be with him and how you take any opportunity you can to see him.”

Brian bit his lip. Apparently he’d have to replace his entire staff. Such a nuisance, but a necessity. He needed loyalty in his employees, as well as the ability to keep their damn mouths shut. 

“It’s just a birthday,” Brian said. “No reason to celebrate. And you said it yourself: he’s busy in New York. There’s no reason to disrupt that momentum, or for him to break his bank account, just to come see me blow out some candles.”

“You could go see him,” Jennifer said. “There are worse places to celebrate your birthday than New York.”

Brian shrugged. He’d gone to see Justin in New York a couple more times since that first visit. It had been fun, exciting, and he’d loved seeing Justin so in his element. But it was also a painful reminder that he hadn’t yet managed to secure the necessary accounts to expand to New York. And each time Justin pointed out some bar he loved, or some place he went for inspiration, or mentioned some fascinating new person he’d met, it was as though he were banging one more nail in the coffin containing the already dying hope that, should Brian fail, that Justin would ever consider coming back to Pittsburgh. Brian was no fool -- he knew this arrangement couldn’t last forever. Each visit reminded him just how critical his plan to take over New York was.

Brian felt alive in New York, when he was with Justin. But it was also where he felt like the greatest failure. 

“Do you know what I think?” Jennifer said, taking another sip of wine. “I think you should go up to New York. Surprise him. He’d love that.”

“Wouldn’t that be giving him a gift on _my_ birthday?”

“Or giving yourself a pretty big one,” Jennifer said, and downed the rest of her wine. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Take the bottle, it’s been sitting there for months. Wine isn’t my drink of choice these days.”

“I understand,” Jennifer said. “I’ve found that wine always tastes better when it’s shared.”

Or when it’s being licked off Justin’s skin, but Brian kept that observation to himself.

“Well, I need to get going. Molly’s class is getting out soon.” Jennifer walked over to Brian and cupped his face with her hand. “But just give it some thought, will you? Despite what you might think, there is still nothing in the world Justin wants more than to be with you.”

“We’ll see,” Brian said. But when Jennifer kissed his cheek, he pulled her in for a quick, but unmistakably affectionate, hug.

~*~

“Well, to be fair, Brian’s always hated birthdays,” I say. “If they were his, they were just a reminder he was getting one step closer to the grave. If they were somebody else’s, they were a pointless ritual to celebrate the fact that you managed to get expelled from a vagina at some point in your life.”

“I have to admit, he has a point,” Judy says with a laugh. “I was never fond of birthdays myself. There was always this buildup, and then … nothing. Because you weren’t really another year older, were you? It’s all just a gradual accumulation of days. Are you all that different on your birthday than you were the day before?”

I exhale a long stream of smoke. “You know, you and Brian would get along better than I originally thought.”

Judy smiles. “You have no idea.”

~*~

Brian was just about to get out of the cab to enter the bar where Justin worked when his cell finally rang. “Hey.”

“Hey, birthday boy.”

“Hardly a boy. I expect the AARP to be calling me any day now.”

Justin laughed. “Well, you’d be their hottest member. So, what are you up to on your big day? Are you in Chicago yet?”

“Well, _apparently_ I’m fated to spend the day getting your voicemail,” Brian said. It was true. He’d already called Justin five times -- twice after getting off his plane, once as he was climbing the seven flights to his apartment, once on his way back down, and once when he saw Justin wasn’t at his studio. 

“Sorry,” Justin said. “I actually just got off a plane.”

Brian blinked. The cab driver was giving him an impatient look, but he ignored him. “Where are you?”

“San Francisco,” Justin said. “Remember how I said Alfonso was trying to arrange a meeting for me with that art critic Cara Crawford? Well, she finally agreed to it, _but_ she’s not coming to the east coast for another six months. Alfonso said we should go when her interest was still hot, so this morning he just said to pack my bags, that we were headed to the Bay. Isn’t that incredible?”

Brian bit his lip. “Yeah. Incredible.”

“It could be huge if she really likes them. Rumor has it her partner is finally opening her own gallery in Chelsea.”

“I’m sure you’ll get her panties all wet,” Brian said. 

“Lesbians do love me,” Justin said. “But I’m sorry. I got distracted. So, tell me. How’s your birthday going? Are you getting _blown away_ in the Windy City?”

“Change of plans,” Brian said, glancing out the window. “I’m in the Big Apple instead.”

There was a long pause. “You’re in New York?” Justin said, stunned. “But I thought -- “

“Like I said,” Brian said, “change of plans.”

“Shit,” Justin muttered. “How long are you going to be there? We haven’t even left SFO yet. I can get right back on a plane and meet you there.”

“Don’t you dare,” Brian said. “I’m only going to be here a few hours.” And it was true. He didn’t have any meetings lined up, having gone against his every instinct and deciding to treat himself to a weekend of simply enjoying some Sunshine, so there wasn’t any sense in sticking along any longer than it took to book a return flight.

“I just wish I’d known,” Justin said. “I would have loved to see you on your birthday.”

“It’s just another day, Justin,” Brian said. “It’s not worth giving up what could be the most important meeting of your life just so you can lick frosting off my dick. We’ll see each other in two weeks when you come back to Pittsburgh, just as we originally planned. Only difference will be the date.”

“I disagree, but I’ve learned by now there’s no point in fighting you on this one,” Justin said. “I just wish I got to give you your present today. I’ve been dying for you to see it.”

“You got your ass tattooed with the words ‘Property of Brian Kinney,’ didn’t you?”

“Actually, my dick,” Justin teased. “Hurt like a motherfucker, but figured it was best to go hard or go home.”

“Oh, you’ll be going hard,” Brian murmured.

There was another long pause, and Brian could just see that familiar sad smile forming on Justin’s face. “I love you, you know,” Justin finally said. “This meeting’s important, but you are, too. You’re the one who keeps me going. Even after all this time, I still just want to make you proud.”

“You do,” Brian said quietly. “And isn’t that just the best birthday present of all?”

And then, after hanging up the phone, he ordered the driver to take him back to JFK.

~*~

“It sounds like Justin’s doing well,” I say.

“More than well,” Judy says. “God’s given him many gifts.”

“He always was talented,” I say. 

“Not only that,” Judy says. “But do you know how unheard of it is for somebody to have Justin’s caliber of success so early on, with so little training?”

“He attended one of the best art schools in the area.”

“So do countless others,” Judy says. “That doesn’t mean they’re meeting gallery owners who are actually eager to show their work. And so soon! Justin didn’t even finish school, and moved to New York after one good review. So many artists wait their entire lives for this. Hell, think how many artists don’t get this kind of recognition until after they’ve passed.”

“Are you saying Justin doesn’t deserve this? That it was only because of luck that he was able to have this kind of success?”

“I believe you’ll find I never once said that word,” Judy says. “In fact, I believe I referred to them as ‘gifts.’ Justin’s a talented young man, but talent can only get somebody so far without having a little extra divine … influence. And I’ll have you know, Vic, that only those who truly deserve it are influenced to such an extent.”

“Well, I’m not sure how thrilled Brian would be to hear that,” I say. Brian’s face is frozen on the screen. If I hadn’t spent the last few hours examining his life, I don’t know if I would have been able to say it was anything different from his usual “Fuck if I care, I’m Brian Kinney” expression. But I can see just the slightest bite of his lips, a hint of a frown, a flare of disappointment and resignation in his eyes. 

“Oh, I think Brian would be the first in line to make a case for Justin,” Judy says. “He knows Justin is talented, but he also thinks that if anybody deserves a little extra push to take him to the next level, it’s him. But I think what we have here is, for the first time, Brian considering also making a case for himself. And yet …”

“He won’t,” I interrupt. “He’ll continue working his ass off. Because at the end of the day … he still doesn’t think he deserves any of it.”

~*~

Brian exited the cab and handed the driver a fifty. He’d had three meetings today, two of them moderately promising. If just one of those meetings turned into an account, they’d be up to five. It was good. Theodore said that every day. But it wasn’t good enough.

Still, there wasn’t anything he could do about that now. Now he had -- he glanced at his watch -- just about sixty hours with Justin before catching his early morning flight back to Pittsburgh on Monday. 

He quickly let himself into Justin’s art studio building, grabbing himself a bottle of water from the vending machine in the hallway along his way. He was momentarily annoyed when he found Justin’s door unlocked -- the studio wasn’t in an unsafe neighborhood, but Brian knew what kind of hours Justin kept here and it was New York, for fuck’s sake -- until he realized Justin wasn’t alone.

“Well, don’t let me interrupt,” Brian said, setting down his suitcase and leaning against the doorframe. “I’ve always heard you can find the best shows in New York. And I won’t even have to stand in line for a ticket.”

“Brian!” Justin exclaimed. In a second he was entwined in Brian’s arms, kissing him soundly. “How’d your meetings go?”

“They all creamed their pants,” Brian said. He let his eyes drift down Justin’s body, taking in his paint-splattered neck and arms, bare chest, and jeans. “Much as it appears you did.”

“Shut up,” Justin laughed, giving Brian a playful shove even as he leaned in for another kiss. “Just made a bit of a mess. Don’t worry. I brought a change of clothes in case you’re too hungry to wait to go back to my place.”

“Why bother?” Brian murmured. “You’re going to be out of them in a minute anyway.”

“So, you must be the infamous Brian Kinney.”

Brian frowned. For the briefest moment in time, he’d forgotten there was somebody else in the studio. And that somebody else, based on his obvious ease around an art studio, his olive skin and long, dark, and wavy hair that belonged on the cover of some trashy romance novel, and barest hint of an Italian accent, was somebody that forced Brian to remind himself on a regular basis that he did _not_ do jealousy. “Yeah,” he said, wrapping an arm around Justin’s waist and pulling him close. “And you are?”

“Alfonso d’Angelo,” he said. He held out his hand, but upon seeing Brian had no intention of removing his arm from Justin, casually let it fall back to his side. “I’ve heard a great many things about you. You’ve inspired some of Justin’s best work. The passion, the heat, the intensity … I have to say, Mr. Kinney, when I look at some of Justin’s work, it’s as though I know you myself.”

“You should be so lucky,” Brian said. He realized he should at least try to be polite for Justin’s benefit, but his mood was rapidly deteriorating and this Italian twat was the only thing standing in the way of his one surefire cure-all. 

“I’d like to,” Alfonso said, and for a second Brian thought he heard a hint of a come on, but it was gone by his next words. “Why don’t you let me treat the two of you to dinner tonight? I’m friends with the owner of the best Italian place in the city. The tourists haven’t even discovered it yet.”

“I’m watching my carbs,” Brian said. “And I’m afraid we have plans tonight.”

“Maybe something tomorrow?” Justin asked. “Brunch?”

“A _late_ brunch,” Brian said. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a very long night.”

“Fair enough,” Alfonso said with a slight chuckle. “Noon? At Verde? I prefer Petit Louis, but I doubt we’d be welcome back after the last time.”

Justin laughed, obviously in on some hilarious shared memory, and Brian tightened his grip on his hip. “Better make it one,” Brian said. 

“One it is. I’ll leave you two to your reunion. Only, hey, Apollo, would you mind helping me take those paintings downstairs? Wouldn’t want to ruin them before my dad even has a chance to see them.”

“Apollo?” Brian asked as Justin gave him a quick squeeze before moving to grab his paint-splattered shirt from off the floor.

“Oh, he’s a Roman god,” Alfonso said.

“I know who he is,” Brian said. “I based an entire campaign around him.”

“So then you’ll understand why it’s an apt nickname for Justin,” Alfonso said. “The god of the arts, frequently depicted as a handsome young man with flowing blond hair. Commonly associated with the sun … and who doesn’t think of sunshine when our Justin smiles?”

Brian didn’t do jealousy, but he _did_ do punching pretentious, presumptuous pricks in the jaw, and he was dangerously close to doing just that.

“Ready, Alfonso?”

“Of course,” Alfonso said. He nodded to Brian. “Tomorrow, then.”

Brian said nothing, instead taking that moment to open his bottle of water and take a long swig. 

“Behave,” Justin whispered into his ear, and then he and Alfonso were gone.

Alone in Justin’s studio, Brian took the opportunity to examine some of his latest works. They were all fucking incredible, of course. Justin’s skills had soared to new heights since coming to New York. It was astounding, really. Brian still had that first sketch he’d purchased from Justin all those years ago, the one of him sleeping naked in bed, his dick curved up against his belly. It was a perfectly fine drawing, far above what the average person could ever dream to produce. But it paled in comparison to the masterpieces that now hung before him.

Still, there was one quality about that sketch that would always hoist it to the top of Brian’s favorite of Justin’s pieces, not that he’d ever admit it to another breathing soul: he knew, with absolute certainty, that when Justin was drawing it, he was thinking only of him. Sure, Justin told him all the time that his recent works were inspired by him, hell, even the fucking Italian said it, but there were so many other influences in Justin’s life now. Being in New York. New, exciting places. New, exciting people. So many things Pittsburgh, things _Brian_ couldn’t offer him. 

It was fucking pathetic, Brian knew. He wasn’t some insecure teenager desperate for his boyfriend’s approval. But even from the very beginning, it had been fucking powerful to know he was the center of Justin’s world. The reason behind _why_ it felt so powerful had evolved over time, much against Brian’s will. But there was that _certainty_. That _certainty_ that Brian feared was slowly cracking, becoming more and more tenuous the longer they took part in this long-distance whatever the fuck it was.

“Like it?”

“It’s unsettling,” Brian said, reaching to grasp Justin’s arms that were wrapped around his waist. “Somehow both terrifying and beautiful. Layer upon layer, hidden details … I could stare at for hours and still find something new hidden within.”

Justin rested his head on Brian’s shoulder and pressed his lips to his cheek. “You’re the best art critic a guy could ask for.”

“I doubt that. Unlike art critics, I only speak the truth,” Brian said, forcing himself to look away so he could turn to face Justin. “What’s it called?”

“It’s part of a series I started last month,” Justin said, sounding surprisingly hesitant. “I have a working title for it, but … I want to make sure you’re okay with it.”

“Why do you give a fuck what I think?”

“I want to call the series ‘Love,’” Justin said. “I’ve been calling this one ‘Admission.’ It was inspired by … by the first time you told me.”

Brian closed his eyes. Now he understood the effect the painting had on him. Justin, of course, had a gift of imbuing his works with tremendous amounts of emotion, emotions Brian still had difficulty articulating. But it all made sense now -- Justin had managed to capture all the terror of that night -- fear that this time Justin would be critically injured or worse, fear he’d never see him again, fear of saying those words, of how Justin would react, if those words _still_ weren’t enough and Justin would remain lost to him -- as well as that flickering wisp of hope floating around the edges. The intensity of it all was overwhelming. It was like Brian was looking at himself, cut open.

“I want it,” Brian finally said. “You’ll call the series ‘Love,’ you’ll display this one and call it ‘Admission.’ But when the show’s over, wherever and whenever it is, I want the painting. However much you’re asking for it. I’ll double it.”

Justin smiled and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Okay. Alfonso will be heartbroken though. This one’s his favorite.”

“He could stand with a little heartbreak,” Brian muttered. “How the fuck do you put up with a twat like that?”

Justin laughed. “He’s not always that over the top. He was trying to impress you.”

“He was trying to fuck your tight little ass is what he was doing,” Brian said. “Although now that I’ve seen him in person, I’m shocked you haven’t had his dick yet. The man’s a twat, but he’s hot.”

“Not interested in his dick,” Justin said, pulling Brian’s jacket off his shoulders.

“You little liar,” Brian said. He quickly removed his tie and was making quick work of the buttons on his shirt when Justin leaned in for a hard kiss. “He’s just your type. Chiseled face, gorgeous body. I bet he has a big, hard cock. And he wants you, Sunshine. Or, should I say, _Apollo_?”

“Brian …”

“I bet he’s uncut,” Brian said. “The Europeans have one over on us in that area. Have you sucked an uncut cock, Justin? Just a small piece of foreskin, but it adds so much.”

“More interested in your perfectly cut cock right now,” Justin said and, true to his word, kneeled before Brian to unzip his pants and pull his erection free.

“He wants you,” Brian said as he gripped the back of Justin’s head. “He wants your mouth. He wanted to fuck you right in this studio, right up against these paintings, pounding into you. It would be fucking hot, Sunshine. He --”

Brian groaned, dropping his head back against the wall behind him. It was typically one of his favorite fantasies, watching Justin getting fucked by some hot trick, but today it felt like he had to forcefully remind himself of that. He knew it was inevitable that Justin and Alfredo would fuck -- they were two fucking gorgeous fags who saw each other all the time who both had a passion for art, for creation, the most intense form of intimacy of all, as Ben had once informed him years ago. And because of that, Brian knew that the “artsy Italian guy” would never be just a trick. 

Brian couldn’t compete with that. Brian _wouldn’t_ compete with that.

Just then, Brian felt the slightest tickle against his hand -- astonishing, given the alacrity of Justin’s mouth around his dick. He looked down and caught sight of Justin’s eyes gazing up at him, the emotions in them just as fiery as the colors and brushstrokes of his paintings. Gasping, Brian came, shooting his load down Justin’s throat, not once breaking eye contact. When his knees buckled embarrassingly, Justin helped guide him down to the floor. Once Brian’s breathing had recovered, he unzipped Justin’s fly and moved to swallow his dick. Justin was already hard and leaking pre-come, and it didn’t take long before he was also coming in Brian’s mouth, calling out his name.

“You know,” Justin said a long while later, “I know I said before it was hot when you got jealous, but that was because usually it just meant that you’d fuck me even harder that night. If you’re worried for whatever reason that I’d rather be with Alfonso than with you, then I feel obligated to tell you that you have no reason to be.”

“I’m not jealous,” Brian lied. “I’m only pointing out the obvious.”

Justin laughed. “Yeah. But I know better than to mix business with pleasure. Learned that from the master.”

Brian pressed his lips to Justin’s neck. Justin had refused to admit to it, but Brian _knew_ he had something to do with getting Kip to drop those charges all those years ago. Typical Sunshine. Saving his ass from the very beginning, even if Brian had refused to admit it. “But you’re teasing him.”

“Well, yeah,” Justin said. “If he thinks there’s even a chance of a fuck, he’ll keep busting his ass to get me into galleries and keep me around.”

“He’ll grow tired of waiting eventually,” Brian said. “Nobody’s ass is that tempting, not even one that belongs to a Roman god. So what do you do then?”

“Shut up,” Justin said, but his tone was soft. “And I’ll handle it. But seriously, if I ever fuck Alfonso, it’s going to be on the day I’m 100% certain I don’t need him around anymore. If I screw him, I give him the power. And I plan on holding on to that. I’m not willing to risk my career because I’d only be willing to fuck him once.”

“We could … renegotiate that rule,” Brian said, attempting to keep any sort of inflection out of his voice.

Justin stiffened. “What? Do you want to?”

“If screwing Alfredo will get you solo shows …”

“No,” Justin said immediately. “Not happening. Alfonso may not be the sleaze Sap was, and I’m not above flirting and teasing to keep me at the top of his list, but I’m not about to start selling my body for shows.”

“What a pity,” Brian said. “That blow job you gave me would have been worth at least a grand.”

“Oh, from _you_ I’ll accept cash, Visa, MasterCard, American Express, personal check …”

Brian laughed and kissed Justin once more. “You’ve come a long way, Mr. Taylor.”

“Yeah, we have.” Justin stroked Brian’s hair, his thumb sliding through his perfectly-trimmed sideburns. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because usually after sex you’re either ridiculously smug about your performance and are congratulating yourself, or you’re already set to go for another round, or you’re so exhausted you just pass out. But now …”

“Yes?”

“You have that look in your eyes,” Justin said quietly. “I’ve only seen it a couple of times and it kind of scares the shit out of me. Softer, more open, like how you get when you’re really upset or feeling vul -- “

“If you say ‘vulnerable,’ I swear to fucking god, Sunshine …”

“Fine, I won’t say it,” Justin said, and reached to squeeze Brian’s hand. “But I will say that I love you. Is that okay?”

Brian closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Justin said, and kissed the top of his head. “So, I was thinking we could go back to my place and then just not leave all weekend. Lots of fucking and sucking and ordering in. I’ve found some great new places since you were here last.” 

“Except for our venturing out for brunch with Alfredo?”

“ _Alfonso_ ,” Justin corrected. “And I was planning on canceling with him. We can meet up with him some other time.”

“Justin,” Brian said. “He may be a twat, but he’s important to your career. Don’t cancel on him because you think I can’t go a couple of hours without holding your hand or staring wistfully into your eyes.”

“You’d do that anyway,” Justin said, grinning. “But no. I do want the two of you to spend some time together, but it can wait for another weekend. It’s been more than a month since we’ve seen each other. I want to be with you.”

Brian didn’t mention how a month was actually pretty damn good for them, or how Justin had barely used the Louis Vuitton suitcase Brian had bought him for his birthday (fuck, he’d just _hated_ Justin’s goddamn duffel bag), or how Justin had only been able to find time to use one of the Liberty Air vouchers Brian had given him for Christmas. Between the two of their schedules, visits would never be on a frequent basis. If Justin thought Brian and Alfonso could bond during some visit that was less rushed or after a shorter time apart, he’d be waiting a very long time, and not only because Brian had little interest in bonding with an Italian art snob over anything. 

But Justin’s suggested plans for the weekend sounded far too good to protest.

“All right,” Brian said finally. “But what will you tell our favorite Italian stallion?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Justin said, reaching for Brian’s dick. “I’ll just say that something … suddenly came up.”

~*~

“Well, well, well,” I say. “A jealous Brian. Imagine that.”

“But it’s more than simple jealousy, isn’t it?” Judy asks. “Brian’s genuinely afraid that he’s going to lose Justin.”

“And not to a homophobe with a bat or a nightclub bombing,” I say. “Just something as mundane as a long-distance relationship. How cliché.”

“And yet an entirely new experience for him,” Judy says with a nod. “I expect he doesn’t completely know how to handle it.”

“At least if there’s something extreme, he can hide behind it,” I say. “He can say he was in such a state after Justin’s bashing because he’d witnessed a violent attack on one of his friends, he can say he proposed to Justin because he panicked after the bombing. But when the only thing he’s fearing stems from his own insecurities, his own heart, what then? And how the fuck does Brian Kinney handle those things that plague mere mortals?”

“Why, Vic,” Judy says, holding a hand to her breast. “Look at you, waxing poetic on your subject. I think you’ll do just fine, darling.”

I blink, and my glass is re-filled with an excellent whiskey. “Roll the damn film.”

~*~

Brian didn’t look up when he heard his door slide open. Truthfully, he barely even registered it. Not until Michael stood in front of his desk, picked up a nearly empty bottle of Beam, and brought it back down to the surface with a loud bang.

“Christ, Mikey,” Brian shouted. “Ever hear of knocking?”

“I did,” Michael said. “And I called.”

Brian glanced over at his phone. “Guess you did. So, what’s the emergency?”

“No emergency,” Michael said. “Just haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Been busy.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Michael said. “So, how about a break? Ben just learned he has to go to a conference in two weeks, so I was thinking of going up to Toronto to visit JR. Want to come along? It’s over Halloween, so we could see JR and Gus get dressed up for trick or treating. And, hell, probably Mel and Linds, too.”

“I can’t,” Brian said, returning back to his laptop. “Far too busy. But you should go. And bring plenty of suckers for the munchers.”

“You know, I thought that given how well your campaign to take over New York has been going, that you’d be a little less busy.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t afford to step away,” Brian said. “Too close. I need to nail down at _least_ two more accounts by the end of the year, and Theodore’s been making rumblings that five more would be ideal given the current economy. Have to stay ten steps ahead.”

“You always do,” Michael said. He paused. “You know, you don’t look so hot.”

“Thank you, Michael, I knew I could count on you for your unwavering support.”

“I’m serious. You look exhausted. How much have you been sleeping?”

“The same amount I always have, Mother,” Brian said.

“Yeah, except now you’re up late working on accounts instead of working on getting your dick sucked.”

“I thought you’d be happy for me,” Brian said, peering closer at his screen. He rubbed his eyes. Shit. He might end up needing glasses. “Look at me, getting all responsible. You said it yourself -- nothing’s more pathetic than an over the hill club boy.”

“Yeah, well, maybe sperm was the secret to your mojo. You could stay up all night fucking and still nail an account first thing in the morning, meet up with us for lunch, and come by Ma’s for dinner.”

“Was that your passive aggressive attempt to get me to apologize for not allocating ample time for Brian and Mikey bonding?”

“No, you asshole,” Michael said. “I’m just worried. You look like a wreck, you’ve barely seen anybody, you haven’t been by my place in ages. Ted says you barely even come out of your office, that you’re there when he arrives and still there when he leaves.”

“Like I said, Michael,” Brian said. “Busy, busy.”

“Have you seen Justin recently?”

Brian refused to let Michael get the rise out of him he likely expected. He knew damn well Justin and Michael chatted somewhat regularly as they tried to figure out what to do with _Rage_ , and that Ted was a fucking snitch who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, so there was no way Michael didn’t know that Brian and Justin’s two most recent attempts to see each other had fallen through at last minute. “Busy boy,” Brian said. “Very busy. With a very attractive and very demanding agent.”

“You’re not worried about that, are you?” Michael asked. “You don’t really think Justin would leave you for his agent?”

Brian still didn’t look up from his laptop. “They make more sense than we ever did. Alfredo boy is only a few years older than him, they both live for art, they’re both settled in New York.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah?” Finally, he saved his work on his laptop, closed it, and looked up at Michael. “You know what Sunshine told me? That he wouldn’t fuck him because he can’t risk his agent not being satisfied with a one-time only deal. But do you know what I think? I think that Justin’s afraid _he_ wouldn’t be able to keep it to one time. That he’s afraid he’d love it too much.”

“You don’t think … Brian, Justin was a kid back then when he took up with Ethan. He was confused.”

“I remember you singing a very different tune back then,” Brian said, meaningfully rubbing his jaw.

Michael at least had the good grace to blush. “I’m just saying that he’s grown up. We all have. Hell, the fact alone that you’re willing to fight to be with Justin instead of sitting back and waiting for him to make his decision without telling him how much you want to be with him shows that. You’re just freaking out because you’re used to always having him around.”

Brian rolled his eyes. One marriage proposal in a time of crisis, and suddenly everybody assumed his gestures of dedication were due to him “freaking out.”

“You know, Brian,” Michael said slowly, “if it hurts too much, you could always … maybe not permanently, but … perhaps cutting ties for a while, fewer expectations …”

“No, Michael,” Brian said. “I couldn’t.”

And it was true. For all that Brian despised waiting, as much as he knew that if something didn’t change in terms of time and distance apart, he also knew that he would never be the one to end it. He would take Justin however he could, even if it meant one day-long trip a year, even if it killed him, because that one day where Justin was his would be far worth the 364 without. He still thought often of that time he’d run into Justin shortly after their last breakup, when they’d been reduced to mere small talk. He and Justin. Fuck, it had felt so _wrong_. Brian wasn’t about to go back to that. Not willingly, anyway.

“But what does that say if the only way you guys can last is if you break away from your life here and go after him?” Michael said quietly. “It’s only been a little over a year.”

“Yeah?” Brian said with a harsh laugh. “Try it.”

Michael sighed. “I just hate seeing you put your life on hold for him. For _anybody_.”

“I didn’t put my life on hold for him,” Brian said. “It’s _been_ on hold, for fuck knows how long. If anything, I’m finally _accelerating_. Revving the engine so I’m no longer stuck in the pile of mud that is Pittsburgh. The way I see it, I can work my ass off to expand Kinnetik and move to New York, or I can sit around here and wait for the day when Justin decides he can’t take it anymore. And you know how I hate waiting. ”

Michael stared at him for a long time, then pulled him out of his chair into a hug. Brian didn’t put much effort into returning the embrace, but he allowed himself to be held. 

“How about I come by the Diner tomorrow?” Brian asked finally. “Breakfast? Would that make all of you feel better?”

“It’s a start,” Michael said. He kissed Brian quickly. “You know, I’ve talked to Justin, too. I do think that even if you don’t make it to New York, he might come back this way. He loves New York, but he loves it here, too. And he was saying how much he misses having time to work on _Rage_ and that he has a ton of great ideas …”

Brian shook his head. He knew Michael was trying to help, but that kind of hope was useless right now. Sure, maybe Justin would move back. But right now he needed to be in New York. Making it as an artist was 30% talent, 70% politics, and there was no way Justin could kiss all the asses he needed to all the way in PIttsburgh. Maybe one day when he was established he _might_ choose to come back to Pittsburgh, although Brian didn’t have a fucking clue why. 

But if Brian were to hope for Justin to come back now, it would mean hoping for Justin’s dreams to fail, and he wasn’t fucking about to do that. Especially not when the alternative -- getting to New York himself and fulfilling both his personal and professional dreams -- was still on the table. 

It was the only way.

~*~

“Christ,” I say under my breath. It was true: Brian did look like shit. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes rimmed with dark circles and his cheeks covered with far more stubble than he typically allowed. He looked like he had lost at least five pounds -- not a huge amount, to be sure, but it showed on Brian’s frame. 

But what was worst of all was the way he held himself. Brian typically radiated confidence -- it practically oozed out of his pores. But it was absent now, and in its place was an almost frantic nervous energy. Brian was working himself to the bone, and it showed. If it had been anybody else, I would have called his mood one of desperation.

I shake my head. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the course of this viewing, it’s that, contrary to popular belief, the usual rules _do_ apply to Brian Kinney. He feels rage, fear, jealousy, and grief just as strongly as anybody else. He just has different ways of showing it.

“He’s afraid,” Judy says. “He has no real reason to be. Those two could last a lifetime if they wanted to. But he can’t help it. He’s afraid of losing Justin forever. And he’s afraid of himself.”

I nod. “I’m beginning to see why some intervention is needed.”

“And, sweetheart? We’re still several months away.”

~*~

Brian rolled over in bed, pulling a pillow over his head. Ted and Cynthia had conspired against him and had stolen his laptop and his work phone while he was busy yelling at Gary in the art department for choosing a color scheme right out of the eighties for the Cunningham campaign. The fucking little traitors, who apparently forgot who signed their paychecks, had told him he wouldn’t get them back until he went home and got a full eight hours of sleep that night. Fucking twats. They’d been so smug, too. “New York will still be waiting to be conquered tomorrow after you’ve gotten some rest.” “We promise not to let the place burn down while you sleep.” “Gods and CEOs can’t survive on whiskey and will-power alone.”

He had no choice but to fire them both first thing in the morning.

Still, he had to admit it hadn’t been torture to crash for a few hours. He’d contemplated picking up a trick, in part just to spite Ted and Cynthia, but truthfully, he didn’t have the energy to even enjoy it.

Fuck, what had happened to his life?

He was so used to controlling everything, everyone around him. If he wanted to land an account, he went out and fucking did it. If he wanted to fuck someone, he grabbed his prey by the dick and had his way with him. Simple as that.

There was nothing fucking simple about this. 

Grumbling a bit, Brian reluctantly got out of bed. He could feel the beginning twinges of a headache, and he wanted to at least grab some ibuprofen and a sandwich before heading back to bed. 

But then he caught sight of the item he’d been looking at just before he’d collapsed, and he paused in his tracks, grabbed it, and sat back down in bed.

His last birthday present from Justin -- his very own, special edition of _Rage_. Justin and Michael had fifty copies printed, just enough to create buzz about a new, limited release of the presumed defunct series. Brian had all but ten of the copies in his possession, having given those back to Michael so he could sell them at a hefty markup. It was a collector’s item, after all.

But that’s not why Brian guarded his copies so fiercely. It was because Justin had drawn the entire thing, hell, had even _written_ the entire first draft before allowing Michael to make small stylistic edits, just for him. It was a story about how Rage and JT had discovered a fantastic new planet together, one where _JT_ was the hero. Seeing how much JT loved being there, but knowing that he himself was needed back in Gayopolis, Rage had insisted JT stay to pursue his dreams. But not before perfecting the Time Lock, an hourglass that, when flipped over, would freeze time, allowing Rage and JT to be together for what felt like ages before they returned to their separate planets, no real time having passed.

Of course the plot was as transparent as any of the other editions, and it verged on far too fucking sentimental for a Rage story, but Brian didn’t give a shit. It was his.

Brian’s phone rang, and, upon seeing the caller, he smiled. “Hey, Sunshine.”

“Brian! Guess what.”

“You decided to splurge on that new dildo after all.”

“Better! I’m going to have my first solo show!”

Brian blinked. “Well, shit.”

“Isn’t it incredible? I can hardly believe it.”

Brian couldn’t either. He didn’t doubt for a second that Justin had it in him, but he knew how rare it was for an artist to make it in New York so quickly. “Well, well, well. Congratulations, Taylor. When is it?”

“Opens the third week of January. You’ll be here, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Brian said, jotting down the dates on a scrap of paper nearby. 

“Amazing,” Justin said, and Brian could just see the smile overpowering his face. “So are you still planning on coming up this weekend for the Caldwell meeting? We could celebrate.”

Fuck, how Brian hated moments like these. He already felt like shit for failing to nail accounts he’d counted on, and then Justin would ask about them like the wonderful partner he was, and Brian would feel like an even _bigger_ shit for having to admit defeat. Unfortunately, that seemed to be happening with greater frequency these days. “The meeting was canceled. They went with a local firm.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Justin said, and Brian hated himself even more for dampening his excitement so quickly. “Well, you could always pull a Brown Athletics. Show up uninvited and knock their socks off.”

“I could,” Brian agreed. “Except then I’d have even less time to devote to accounts I actually have somewhat of a chance of landing.”

“You could land all of them if people just got their heads out of their asses,” Justin said.

Brian couldn’t help but smile. Justin’s unshakable faith in him was one of the few things getting him through these last few months. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

“So, will you still come up?”

“I could,” Brian said. He flexed his fingers, itching to be back on his laptop researching potential clients he could attempt to arrange a last minute meeting with in New York. “If you want.”

“Of course I do,” Justin said. “Especially now that with this opening I probably won’t be able to come back to Pittsburgh for the holidays.”

Brian frowned. He hadn’t even thought about that. He wasn’t big into holidays -- they were only normal days that the masses decided to imbue meaning into to feel some sense of worth -- but he did enjoy holidays with Justin. “Well, don’t expect me to break the news to Deb. She’s already pissed you missed Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t remind me. I still have nightmares of her shoving a drumstick up my ass.”

“Justin! I brought champagne! We must celebrate!”

Brian closed his eyes. “Alfredo?”

“Alfonso,” Justin corrected. “Hold on. Hey, Alfonso! Just set it down, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Brian said. “I know time doesn’t stop for the famous _artiste_.”

“Only for superheroes, I’m afraid.”

“Too bad,” Brian said. “I’ll see you Friday night. I expect to hear every detail about your celebratory fuck with the Italian.”

There was a long pause. “Seriously, Brian. I know he’s hot, but I’m genuinely not interested in him. There’s way too much I could jeopardize.”

“It was just a joke,” Brian lied. 

“Okay,” Justin said, not sounding entirely convinced.

Brian wanted to kick himself. Justin finally got what he’d been dreaming of for so long, the entire fucking reason why he went to New York in the first place, and Brian had to ruin the moment with some pathetic insecurities, like he was a fucking lesbian. “I’m proud of you, Justin,” he said, hoping that Justin could hear everything he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

Thankfully, the warmth returned to Justin’s voice. “Thanks, Brian. You always were my greatest supporter.”

“Well, I made an investment. I want to see it pay off.”

“With interest,” Justin promised. 

“Justin! Do you have any ice?”

“Shit, sorry,” Justin said. “I should go or Alfonso will totally destroy my apartment. I’ll text you later.”

“Sure. And, Justin?”

“Yeah?

Brian took a deep breath, testing out the words in his his head. As much as he knew they were true, as much as he knew Justin wouldn’t hold them over him, as much as he knew everything wouldn’t be ruined just because he said them out loud, they were still difficult to voice. They didn’t flow off his tongue as easily as they did off Justin’s. But it just figured he was out of practice -- he’d only started getting used to it when Justin had moved away, and the words were even more difficult to say over the phone. And he wasn’t about to become that pathetic twat who started spouting them every time he and Justin managed to be together. Fuck, no. That wasn’t him.

But he knew when it was important to say them out loud.

“Brian?”

“I love you,” Brian said.

“I love you, too,” Justin said. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The call ended, Brian leaned back against the pillows and picked up the _Rage_ comic book once more, flipping through the pages until he got to his favorite illustration. It wasn’t the most exciting image in the book, either in terms of plot line or in sexual content. But somehow, seeing Rage and JT reach across the galaxy for each other, their fingertips just barely touching but the expressions on their faces conveying just how deeply they yearned for each other, was often enough to push Brian through one more day.

Justin had held up his end of the bargain: he had gone to New York and became a big, fucking success. Now, more than ever, it was Brian’s turn to seal the deal.

Because there were no fucking Time Locks for the mere mortals of the world.

~*~

“Good for Justin,” I say. “Taking over the world.”

“And Brian’s just trying to keep up.”

I rub a hand over my face. “I was trying to focus on the positive.”

“We wouldn’t be doing this if it was all positive,” Judy says. “And we’re getting closer to present day.”

I sigh. “Go on. Let’s just rip off this band aid.”

~*~

“Brian.”

“Cynthia, push the meeting with Stevens back to three, would you?”

“Brian.”

“And I need numbers on the Rickman account.”

“Brian!”

Brian heaved a great sigh. “Yes, Theodore?”

“We need to talk.”

“Must you break up with me now, Theodore?” Brian asked. “Can’t it wait till after Christmas? A heartbreak before the holidays is so humiliating, and I already bought you the most beautiful Tiffany’s bracelet that would be a bitch to return.” 

“I’ll give you till Valentine’s Day, but then I’m afraid I must insist,” Ted said, closing Brian’s office door. 

Brian frowned. “Thank you. Now what is it?”

“We need to talk about New York.”

“We talk about New York every fucking day,” Brian said. “No need for the closed doors. It’s not a fucking secret.”

“I know,” Ted said. “But I think we need to seriously reconsider the timeline we’ve set.”

“The timeline isn’t negotiable,” Brian said. “Kinnetik will be breaking ground in New York in January. Are there any further questions?”

“Brian, you have to face facts,” Ted said. “We’re a month away and we still only have six accounts, four of them only with a one-year contract.”

“I’m going to land the Robust Fitness Center account,” Brian said. “We should be hearing from them by the end of the week.”

“That’s what they’ve been saying for the past month,” Ted said. 

“Yes, but I just completely redid the campaign this week,” Brian said. “If they turn it down, they’re absolute idiots.”

“And they’ve also indicated that they’d only be interested in a six month contract, which they’d renew only if there was at least a 50% increase in memberships.”

“This campaign will get them that, and then some.”

“Brian, you know I admire your gusto as much as the next man, but you have to be realistic. We don’t have the accounts we need to make New York a viable option right now.”

“You said seven,” Brian said. “Seven accounts. We land Robust and that’s seven.”

“I said _at least_ seven. If they had been seven strong, multi-year contracts, then yes, I would say go pick out your new office. But that’s not what we have lined up. Setting up in New York right now is just not a safe bet.”

“And when have I ever played it safe?”

“Again, normally a trait I admire,” Ted said. “But in this case it could be financially ruinous. Do you know how much it costs to have an office in New York, to actually have employees there? It’s a completely different cost of living. The Pittsburgh branch _might_ be able to support you for a year. If you sold Babylon, we could probably make it to two.”

“Perfect,” Brian said. “Two years to build up our client base, and I’ll be in New York full-time. Much easier to schmooze. That’s been our weakness, Theodore. I can give the most brilliant pitches in the world, but if I really want to break into New York, I need to be at all the right events, befriending the right people, making the right contacts …”

“Listen, I understand why you want to get to New York so quickly,” Ted said. “I do. But don’t you think it might make sense to take things a little bit slower? Make sure you still feel that strongly about it in a year?”

Brian smiled. Not a friendly smile, not a humorous smile. No, it was his trademarked “I will flay you, slowly, and I will enjoy every last second of your screams” smile. “Go on, Theodore. Tell me: _Why_ wouldn’t I feel as strongly about it in a year?”

“Well, no reason,” Ted said. “Just that long distance relationships are notoriously difficult to maintain. I would just hate to see you bust your ass and potentially lose your shirt to set up shop in New York, only to have, well …”

“What exactly is it you’re implying?” Brian demanded. “That Justin and I are somehow doomed to fail regardless of whether I’m here or in New York, and I should just roll over and accept it?”

“Of course not, Brian. I’m just trying to be practical. Statistically speaking -- “

“Fuck. You.” Brian could feel his hand clenching, and belatedly realized he was crumbling the copy he’d demanded be on his desk by 9. Looks like Adam would just have to print out another. “And fuck your statistics. Now get the hell out of my office.”

Ted sighed. “For what it’s worth, Brian? While I do fear for your health and your sanity, I think it’s really great that you’re willing to work so hard to be with Justin. Going after what you want. It’s a nice change.”

“What are you talking about?” Brian asked, sitting in his chair. “I always go after what I want.”

“Not where Justin’s concerned,” Ted said. “You would never you wanted to be with him because it would make _you_ happy. Even when you were engaged, you said it was because it was what Justin wanted. You’re actually a pretty selfless guy, you know that?”

Brian snorted.

“It’s true. All this big talk about no locks on your doors, about Justin being free to come and go as he wishes. Letting him go when Ethan came along, encouraging him to go to Hollywood, to New York … it was always about making sure Justin was happy, that he was taking every chance for success he could.”

“What was I supposed to do, tell him not to go? Sacrifice his future for me? That’s not love.”

A small smile flickered across Ted’s face, and Brian rolled his eyes. He was so fucking predictable. One mention of the word “love” and he got all starry-eyed. 

“But then what do you call what you’ve been doing? Sacrificing your happiness for him?”

“Listen, Ted -- “

“All I’m saying,” Ted interrupted, “is that it’s a nice change. Seeing you working to achieve your own happiness, to have your emotional needs met as well as your physical ones. It’s almost as if _somebody_ finally managed to convince you that you actually deserve it. And not just happiness. Also love.”

“Why, Theodore,” Brian said. “Ten years ago, who would have imagined you saying that to me?”

“Who’s to say I’m not just angling for another raise?” Ted asked with a grin. He grasped Brian’s shoulder. “I’m just trying to say that no matter how cold I may have come across, it’s not because I don’t want you and Justin to be together, or that I’m trying to kill your dreams, or anything like that. I just know how it would kill you to lose this business, and I don’t want to see that happen, especially if it ends up not being worth it. And no, _not_ just because I’d be out of a job. Because I care about you.”

“Well, thank you, Theodore, for that touching performance,” Brian said. “You can pick up your Academy Award at Cynthia’s desk.”

“I’ll do that. Just think about it, all right?”

Once alone, Brian opened his top desk drawer and pulled out a framed photograph. A gift from Justin, it showed the two of them standing in front of the Brooklyn Bridge, Justin with a shit-eating grin on his face, Brian with a pleased smirk as he pulled Justin flush against him. It was such a fucking cliché of a photograph, one countless tourists had likely taken as well. But it was still one of Brian’s favorite photos of them. 

And that was exactly why he kept it hidden away.

It was no secret to anybody who knew him why he wanted to be in New York. To expand his business, to be among the top dogs, to be with Justin. But they didn’t know what it _meant_. To actually _be_ with Justin in New York.

This photo was his green light at the end of the dock. It reminded him of just how much he stood to lose if he fucked up, if he didn’t work his ass off, if he got complacent for even a second. He and Justin, reduced to a touristy photograph. 

No.

This would just be the first of many photos in New York. And one day, it would be notable only because it _was_ so fucking clichéd, and they would laugh at it and how pathetic they looked. But it would still be hung on the wall, because Justin would insist on it, only it would be surrounded by other photographs of their life in New York, of them doing shots at their favorite bar, of visits from Michael and Daphne and everybody else who wised up and decided to leave Pittsburgh, of them in their home together, just being in the same fucking room in the same fucking city in the same fucking state at the same goddamn fucking time.

Brian set the photograph back in the drawer.

The timeline remained non-negotiable. 

~*~

“Judy, I hate to ask this, but is Brian …”

“Losing his tenuous grip on sanity?” She lightly touches her neck; there’s no scar there, but there might as well be. I take her hand, and she smiles at me. “Well, who hasn’t?”

I’m reminded again just why God gave this job to Judy, the task of looking after the lost souls. She was once one of them, after all. She understands them, loves them without judgment. I wonder just how many people she has helped since arriving here.

“But it’s true. He’s not taking care of himself. He’s obsessing over one remarkably challenging goal that he set for himself and refuses to bend. He’s fixating on the worst possible outcome instead of a far more likely one. He’s afraid, and he doesn’t know how to cope now that his previous coping mechanisms no longer appear to help. So what else is he supposed to do?”

I shake my head. “Lord only knows.”

“I’m not so sure He knows, either.”

“Do you mean --”

“Well, He knows how He’d like it to end up. How it _should_ end up. The stage was actually set perfectly for it. You know, Vic, I can perfectly see a world where Justin makes it big, where Brian sets up an office in New York, but they become so successful that it no longer even matters where they are. I can see them spending a great deal of time in New York, but coming back to Pittsburgh frequently, maybe even staying in their country manor over the summers. Growing old and gray together, much to Brian’s horror.” She sighs. “But, as Brian would be the first to tell you, there is a little thing called free will. People are free to come and go as they choose, to be where they want to be, to do what they wish to do.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious Brian would choose to be with Justin,” I say.

“He would,” Judy says. “But free will isn’t simply just making a decision in a vacuum. So many elements can play a role. And for that possible future to come true? All it requires is a little faith. I think Justin has that down pat. He always has, even when he was a boy. But it comes a little harder for Brian. At least when it comes to believing in himself and his own worth.”

I have no further words to say. It all just seems, as the notorious Brian Kinney would say, totally fucked. And _I’m_ supposed to be the one to set this trainwreck back on its track? Christ.

“Well, this is our final stop,” Judy announces. “We’re about to play the events that transpired today and landed you your big assignment. Ready?”

I close my eyes for a moment to brace myself, and offer a silent prayer. Resolved, I open my eyes once more. “Let’s go.”

~*~

Brian’s cell phone woke him up at the glorious hour of 4 AM the last work day before Christmas. “The fucking office better be on fire, Theodore.”

“I couldn’t sleep and decided to check my email,” Ted said. “Robust pulled out.”

“What?” Brian sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “They signed a fucking contract.”

“Memberships haven’t gone up enough.”

“The contract said the first benchmark would be in two months. It hasn’t even been one.”

“They found a loophole, and they’re using it,” Ted said. 

“Shady fuckers,” Brian muttered.

“Yeah,” Ted said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fucking fabulous,” Brian said. “I’ll be in the office in 45 minutes. I expect you there in an hour.”

“I’m already in my car,” Ted said, and hung up.

The day didn’t improve from there. By nine Brown Athletics was threatening to cancel its contract upon hearing that Kinnetik had signed Lightning Sports, its New York-based rival. Brian’s noon teleconference with Hardy Breweries (New York Account #2) was a fucking disaster -- the marketing head he’d been working with had just been fired, and his replacement was a goddamn dick on a power trip. And an hour after that, Rouge (New York Account #6) called that they were being bought out by another company, one that was already completely satisfied with their current advertising campaign. Brian had barely hung up the phone with them when Stevens was calling, saying they needed to “talk.”

The rest of the staff appeared to be hiding from him, particularly after Brian hurled a mug still filled with hot coffee at the back of the art director’s head, but Ted still pulled him aside just when his migraine was reaching an excruciating level. “We need to talk.”

“Let me warn you, Theodore, I am very likely not in the mood to hear anything you have to say.”

“Then I’ll cut right to the chase,” Ted said, and closed Brian’s office door. “New York’s off the table.”

“Nothing’s off the fucking table until I say it is,” Brian said, sorting through a random stack of papers on his desk without actually looking at them. “And I still plan on spending the new year in New York.”

“Yeah, and how are you going to pay rent?” Ted asked. “After the day we’ve had today, we simply can’t afford any sort of expansion right now. You could end up bankrupting the company in a month.”

“Day’s not over yet.”

“Maybe not for you, but every other company out there is going to close in an hour. Do you think they’re going to be sitting around, just waiting for you to wow them with a surprise pitch?” Ted sighed. “I’m not saying it’s off the table forever. Maybe this was just a sign that we need to take our time, be more strategic.”

“It’s been a year,” Brian said, pulling out a cigarette. “Any ad man worth his salt can land seven accounts in a year.”

“Sure, when he’s not up against some of the most prestigious ad agencies in the country and is trying to break ground while operating from another state. The progress we’ve made so far has been remarkable, especially for a firm our size. Give it another year, maybe even six months, and we’ll be ready.”

“No, not another year, not another six months, not another fucking week.”

“Aren’t you always the one who says it’s more important that we do things _right_?” Ted asked. “Do you want to open in New York and go under in a month, and come back to Pittsburgh with your tail between your legs? Or do you want to hold off until you’re completely positive you’ll be a big fucking success, and take the city by storm?”

“Can’t wait that long,” Brian said, more to himself than to Ted. Honestly, he was feeling a strong sense of vertigo and was afraid he was about to vomit. Christ, what the fuck was happening? He’d been so fucking close, and now it was all unraveling at the seams. 

_Failure. Fucking pathetic failure._

He sat down at his desk as his dreams for a life in New York flashed before his eyes before dissipating into the air along with the smoke from his cigarette. A new, harsher reality set in, the one Brian had been steadfastly ignoring as he slaved away trying to land all those accounts. Justin becoming a huge success after his first solo show. Justin falling even more in love with New York, then just falling in love _in_ New York with somebody far more appropriate than Brian. Time with Justin being reduced to weekly chats, then monthly ones, then just making small talk when he came back to visit his mom over the holidays. Brian stuck in Pittsburgh for the rest of his fucking pathetic life, growing old and gray and useless, at his company that was fucking fantastic for Pittsburgh but nowhere that actually meant something. And then one day he’d look into the mirror and realize he’d turned into Old Man Kinney, too old to fuck, too much of a selfish bastard to have kept any of his friends, still head of his company but needing his younger employees to make the pitches, because who would trust a washed up stud’s word on how sex sells? And then he’d go back to his loft, alone, and get trashed off his ass, and fall asleep as all his old, former dreams danced through his head, mocking him for ever having thinked he might have a fucking chance at all.

“I have to go,” he said, extinguishing his cigarette and grabbing his coat. “Lock up, would you?”

“Brian?” Ted’s brow furrowed, and he reached out a tentative hand to Brian’s arm. “You don’t look so hot. Are you all right?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Brian said, and stormed out of his office, leaving a trail of shellshocked employees in his wake.

He’d ended up at Woody’s. It was fucking crowded -- he’d heard once that bars experienced their busiest days the days just before Christmas and Thanksgiving, what with all the people coming home to visit for the holidays. He believed it. Every fag and their personal fag hag was here tonight. All of them except for Justin. The only one who had good enough sense to stay the fuck away from Pittsburgh. Brian quickly downed three shots of whiskey, then leaned back to assess his options. A good, hard fuck. That’s what he needed.

Unfortunately, it being the holidays and everybody returning to the Pitts, it meant that Woody’s was essentially a reunion of Brian’s old fucks. Brian threw back another shot, and, when he set it down, was pleased to see that somebody he hadn’t had yet was now sitting in the stool next to him. He was a little young, but he’d do for now. 

“Home for the holidays?”

“Yeah,” the man said. “On break from school.”

“Ah, an educated man,” Brian said. “Where do you go?”

“Boston,” he replied. He frowned. “Don’t I know you from someplace?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Not the most original line in the world.”

“I’m serious. I haven’t been back here in years, but … what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, but it’s Brian. Brian Kinney.”

The man’s eyes widened, and he stood up. “I fucking knew it. You’re that old pervert who was fucking Justin Taylor.”

Brian blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Justin was two years ahead of me at St. James. Everybody knew you were fucking him.”

“And you’re still jealous after all these years?” Brian asked. “Well, believe me, any friend of Justin’s is a friend of mine. I’d be happy to do you a turn.”

“Fuck you. You were, what, twice his age? Was that even legal? You fucking deserve to be in jail.”

“Watch it, you little piece of shit. And not that it’s any of your business, but Justin was over the age of consent when we met.”

“Sure, in the legal sense of the word, but what 30-year-old man fucks a teenager? And then shows up at his goddamn prom? What, did you think that was romantic? Some old pervert swooping in to please his boy lover? It’s fucking sick, is what it is.”

Brian clenched his fists. Why this fucking twat was getting under his skin, he didn’t know, but he could feel his blood boiling.

“You know, there were other fags at St. James,” the man continued. “We just had the good sense to keep quiet. It wasn’t safe there for us. But what did you do? You encouraged Justin to be all loud and proud. And look what it got him. Lying on the cement floor with his brains leaking out of his skull.”

“Shut up.”

“How do you even walk around here? Don’t they all know you’re a fucking pedophile?”

“I said, shut up.”

“But at least Justin escaped. I read about him in a magazine. In New York, huh? Well, at least he had the good sense to get the fuck away from you. I hope he never looks back.”

Brian didn’t even recall thinking about punching the little asshole; it was just one second he was seeing metaphorical red, and the next it was literal red, as in blood gushing from the man’s mouth and nose. There was an instant uproar, of course, and he was escorted out of Woody’s, as if he wasn’t Brian Kinney, as if he hadn’t given them more business in the last fifteen years than any other fag in Pittsburgh. 

His phone was ringing nearly the second he stepped out into the snow. “What?”

“Brian! Are you okay?”

“Why is everybody fucking asking me that? Yes, Sunshine, I am absolutely fantastic.”

“I’ve been calling, texting, and emailing you for an hour and you haven’t answered any of them,” Justin said. “Ted called, freaking out. He said you’d had a really shitty day and just stormed out of the office and he hadn’t been able to get a hold of you.”

“Well, lucky you, you managed it. What would you like as your prize?”

“Brian, come on. I know you lost a bunch of New York accounts today. You have to be upset.”

“You don’t fucking know anything,” Brian said. He knew he was losing it, knew Justin didn’t deserve any of this, but fuck, Justin was the one who insisted on sticking around all these years. Perhaps he _did_ deserve it, just for being fucking stupid enough to think Brian was worth being with.

“Look,” Justin said, and his voice was as calm and soothing as ever, “I know this isn’t what you wanted. And I’m not going to lie, I wish it had worked out, too. But it’s not like this was _it_. It’s only time, right? Isn’t that what you said? Whether it’s three months, six months --”

“Never again.”

A long pause. “Brian?”

“I said, never again,” Brian said, tamping down the urge to throw up. “I said it then as a possibility, and now I’m saying it now as a decision. It’s over.”

“You don’t mean that.” Justin’s voice cracked ever so slightly. 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I mean it? Do you honestly think this is working? That we’re some sort of happy couple? Do you actually see this lasting? Because this, Sunshine, this is a goddamn nightmare.”

“Brian, I’m going to book a flight and get down there tonight. We need to talk.”

“Yeah, good fucking luck getting a flight three days before Christmas. And don’t you have a canvas to paint?”

“This is more important,” Justin said. “You’re really scaring me.”

“Well, I shouldn’t be,” Brian said. “You knew exactly who I was when you met me.”

“You’re not the same man you were then,” Justin said. “Neither of us are.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Sunshine,” Brian said. “I haven’t changed a fucking bit.”

~*~

“Shit,” I say, willing the chair to swallow me whole. For once, the afterlife does not comply with my wish. 

“You got that right,” Judy says. She looks as drained as I feel.

I glance back at the screen -- it’s another silent montage, which does nothing to sooth my nerves. There’s Brian, snapping his phone shut, then hurling it off into a snowbank. Going back to his loft, downing more liquor as he packs up a suitcase. Puking in the toilet. Getting into his Corvette, blank-faced and empty-eyed, and driving out of the city. Making it to a winding road that’s slick, covered in snow, before his car skids into a tree. Getting out of the smashed car, trekking up the road to the country manor of Justin’s dreams. Lighting a fire, lighting a joint, and spreading out on the floor with a few bottles of liquor.

Removing a small jewelry box out of his pocket.

Then pulling a white, nearly disintegrating scarf that was covered in dark blood stains from his suitcase.

“Shit,” I say again. “He’s not actually going to hang himself?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what he’s going to do,” Judy says. “But tonight he’s heading down a dangerous path. Whether he kills himself tonight, or if he just continues on as he is … he’s going to be lost far before his time. Completely needlessly.”

“So, what do I do?” I ask. “Do I just blink and show up at the house?”

“You’ll show up where you need to be,” Judy says. “With all the tools that you need at your disposal.”

“Thanks for not sparing any details,” I say. 

“You have to know I’m not trying to frustrate you,” Judy says. “But it’s true. Anything you need, anything you need to do, whatever it takes to set Brian back on the right path -- it’s yours.”

I nod. “That’s something, at least.” 

“Just remember he’ll be able to see you, but nobody else will,” Judy says. “Normally that’s not the case when we send down guardian angels, but given your history with everybody else involved …”

“I get it,” I say. I’m anxious now, already out of my seat. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do to save Brian, or if it’s even possible, but I know I’m not accomplishing anything hanging out in Judy’s personal movie theater. “So, how do I get there?”

“How do you think?” Judy asks. She stands up as well, and pulls me in for a close embrace. “Any self-respecting homo can figure it out. Now, go. And give Brian a kiss for me. Good luck!”

I give Judy a kiss, then take a deep breath and click my heels three times. 

_There’s no place like home._


End file.
